


Cupid Dressed In Black

by jle1993



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Drunken Flirting, F/F, Humor, Romance, Season/Series 06, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jle1993/pseuds/jle1993
Summary: Jafar's made it to Storybrooke and starts to play games with the Saviour.He thinks he has her alone, but there's more than one snake in this town...
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Cupid Dressed In Black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CherrieBluez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherrieBluez/gifts).



> This started as a drunken conversation which became a serious attempt at writing, and I hope you all like it. Set mid-season 6, it diverts from there. Kudos and comments massively appreciated.

“You’ll come around Saviour, but until you do…” Jafar smiled menacingly as he forced Emma into the magically enhanced basement, “Do enjoy your stay.”

With a solid shove, Emma was pushed back far enough that the door was slammed shut before she could steady herself. One red glow later, and Emma knew it was magically sealed – “Damn it!”

She took a deep breath to calm herself so she could take stock of her situation, and released it in a shriek when a cobra dropped out of her top. Her hands frantically patted down her front, as the snake hissed and watched her, and she backed away as she freaked out. It wasn’t that she had a huge _fear_ of snakes – but just how long had that thing been hiding on her? How had she not _noticed?_! Was it another of Jafar’s tricks, to mess with her while her magic was on the fritz again? A shudder rolled through her body, and she gave the snake the stink eye – “Stupid slimy thing…”

She hadn’t considered that the cobra could be offended. It launched itself at her, sinking its fangs deeply into her arm, which really bloody hurt. Emma responded by yelling and trying to yank it off by the tail – “Get off! Get off get off!” - which only made it clamp down harder, still hissing as it did so. It wasn’t until she thought to smack it on the head that it released its grip – and then it only did so because a rogue blast of Emma’s magic accompanied the blow. It was sent flying across the room – a golden bangle around its neck releasing as it did – and the next thing Emma knew, she was facing the Evil Queen.

A dishevelled Evil Queen who had landed with a “floomph” amongst a copious amount of pillows.

The first thought that crossed Emma’s mind was _“Shit! They’ve teamed up!”_ , the second was _“She was under my clothes!”_ , and she wasn’t sure which one was more disturbing. She didn’t get to consider it for long – with an elegant grace that should’ve been impossible when emerging from a cushion pile, the Evil Queen had stood up, and she had her gaze locked onto the blonde.

“Saviour.” The word rolled out with a sneer, slipping between dark lips that were curled into disdain.

“Your majesty.” Emma attempted to mimic the tone, shifting into a more combative stance, and in return she received a single raised eyebrow.

From disdain to dismissive boredom, the Queen’s expression changed smoothly, like the motion of her waving her hand to send Emma flying into yet more soft furnishings. She didn’t even glance at where the blonde had landed before striding past her towards the door, throwing her hands up dramatically to unleash a torrent of magical energy. She laughed in a way that Emma could only describe as maniacal, the whole door hidden in whirling purple smoke and lightning – by all rights it should have been obliterated. That thought, that the door would be opened so easily, was halted as abruptly as the Queen’s laughter – the magical energy flared red and turned back on the caster…which led to another floomphy landing.

Emma snickered.

The Queen glared at her, standing up and stalking over to where Emma was sitting in a mound of plushness, a small ball of fire emerging from her palm. She cocked her hand back in an unspoken threat, then growled out a demand to know “Why did Jafar lock you in here?”

Looking between the fireball and the Queen’s scowling face, Emma gave a casual shrug and wiggled into a more comfortably reclined position, missing the look of annoyance that passed over the Queen’s face, “The same reason you keep messing with Henry, kind of. Come to the dark side, we have free throw pillows etcetera.”

Closing her hand into a loose claw of a fist, extinguishing her flames, the Queen scoffed.

“What a pathetic waste of time,” she said, her voice laced with scorn, “You were the most subdued Dark One the realms have known.”

Emma shrugged again, preoccupied with her arm. It was throbbing, the skin raised and sore around two slightly ragged blood filled holes, lines of red leaking from them. Apart from that though…Emma felt surprisingly fine.

“Huh. Guess you had no venom,” she commented casually to the Queen, “Why _did_ you bite me?”

“I was a snake,” the Queen deadpanned, making her way over to a small table with a very attractive carafe of wine on it. She poured herself a full glass, and decided that if she were going to be stuck with the Saviour - obnoxious product of True Love that she was – it would be more tolerable if she drank. Especially as it seemed neither of them would be leaving until Jafar freed them.

“Yeah but, you didn’t bite me straight away.”

“You didn’t call me slimy straight away,” the Queen muttered, before turning to face the Saviour, glass in hand, “I think you’ll find snakes are more like…silk.”

Emma gave her an odd look as the Queen glided her free hand down a length of red fabric, variations of which were hanging everywhere. An eyebrow was raised in the blonde’s direction, and Emma crossed her arms defensively, “I don’t normally _wear_ silk.”

The veiled accusation was accompanied by a pointed look, and the black haired enchantress rolled her eyes in return, “It was less comfortable for me than it was for you. Trust me.”

She made a simple upward swirling motion with two fingers, and in a small plume of purple smoke a glass appeared in Emma’s hand. While Emma got to grips with suddenly holding something, the Queen reached back to pick up the carafe, before approaching with smooth strides. As she closed in, Emma shuffled as far back into her pile of pillows as she could, “What are you doing?”

The Queen rolled her eyes again before she poured a generous measure, “I doubt you’ll have better luck releasing us. While we’re stuck in this Arabian brothel, I fully intend to make use of Jafar’s gifts.”

“Gifts for me,” had slipped out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop herself, and the Queen responded by locking their gazes as she took a long sip. “Point taken.”

Nodding regally, the Queen began to pace the room in a leisurely fashion, and if she had been alone she would have taken off her boots – it just didn’t feel right to have on footwear, not when the floor was covered in the most luxurious looking shag pile. She really had to remember to add something similar to her accommodation. Good carpeting, good wine, she had to admit that not all of Jafar’s choices were terrible… As she continued pacing and drinking, she found herself observing Emma, who still hadn’t decided to enjoy her beverage. Instead the blonde was holding it with both hands, sniffing it suspiciously while looking conflicted. While she could understand the reaction, the Queen still found it incredibly infuriating.

“Oh please. As if _I_ would poison good wine,” she snarked, making Emma look up at her sharply.

“You hired someone to poison my parents’ wine.”

“And you’ll notice that just now I specified _good_ wine. Do try to listen.”

The two of them then engaged in a stare off, which accomplished nothing except making the Queen even more frustrated. She had no intention of remaining awkwardly sober with the Saviour, not when neither of them had any idea how long they would be stuck for – yet she prided herself on not being an idiot. As erratic as Emma’s magic was, if the blonde remained more clearheaded than the Queen then it meant that the Queen would be putting herself at a disadvantage – something she also had no intention of doing. If both of them were inebriated, then it should keep them on even enough footing that she would remain relatively safe. Relatively, because there was still the issue of Jafar, but if he were anything like the Queen then the chances were that he wouldn’t be checking in any time soon – he’d be too busy sowing chaos and the like.

With that in mind, the Queen snatched Emma’s glass from her, took a sip, and then forcefully thrust it back into the blonde’s hands, “Better? I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one.”

Emma looked from her glass to the Queen, and back again, “I’m starting to feel a little peer pressured _your majesty_ , and you should know I’ve never responded well to that.”

The Queen gave her a withering scowl, “All I know Miss Swan, is that you’re starting to irritate me.”

“Bully for you, that’s still not a reason for me to give you an advantage.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I certainly wouldn’t need to get you drunk to do it.”

Emma paused at that, glancing again between the Queen and her glass, before sighing, “Fair enough,” and finally taking a draught of her wine. Swirling it gently, she paused for a moment – considering if she felt poisoned or not – before shrugging and taking another.

The Queen watched just long enough to know that Emma would continue drinking, and then she started to pace again while sipping her own drink. Part of her really wanted to flop into one of the piles of softness, like Emma was, because it looked ridiculously comfortable. The rest of her would be damned if she’d let the _Saviour_ see her flop anywhere. She could all but hear her mother’s voice – _“Ladies don’t flop”_. Her mother would also have said that ladies don’t wrap themselves around other ladies, and yet that was how the Queen found herself in her current situation – though she’d been a snake at the time, so she decided to give herself a little leeway with that particular indiscretion. The hag was only alive in her head after all.

She discreetly rubbed her arms as she reflected on the Saviour’s unwitting help. Certainly she would have perished as a serpent without it - and the thought had her restraining what would have been an unrefined snort. The closest the Charmings had come to killing her in a long time, and it would have been an accident – the fools had left her in the cage she’d come in, sans heat lamp, meaning she’d had to cope with Maine’s ambient chill for far too long. Without her residual magic it would have been the end of her, and that would have been typical of what the Charming family kept doing to her. Oh they were the good guys, so when they hurt people it was fine – they didn’t mean it, they were sorry, they thought they were doing the right thing, or they didn’t think at all. Even if their actions caused suffering that lasted years, they were allowed to plead ignorance. So many excuses that they would never afford to others who weren’t so “pure”, and in the end it was always their victim that had to apologise – apologise or suffer the judgement of the inherently “good”, for actions that never would have been taken without the trigger that the “light hearted” had pulled.

Snow White could break her word, and trigger the events that would lead to Daniel’s death. She could fain ignorance of how her perfect father treated her new step-mother. She was a child, it wasn’t really her fault, and in the end it as the Queen who was “evil”. Snow and Charming could take the evil potential of their child, and thrust it into another – almost certainly ruining that child’s life – but because it was for the “greater good”, they were still “good”. The double standards were sickening, and it sickened her more that somewhere along the line her lesser half had been taken in by it. The only comfort she took was that she hadn’t been taken in at first by the Charmings and their insipid black and white mentality, and instead had been drawn into the Saviour’s understanding of the grey – no matter how much the blonde parroted her parents, she’d always understood that people could be good AND bad. Which made it so much more of a shame that Regina had eventually lost sight of that, and had slipped into the Charmings way of thinking, to her and the Queen’s detriment.

“Ah fuck.” The Queen was drawn from her rumination by Emma’s sudden cursing, and swung around sharply to see what had caused it. The blonde noticed and sheepishly scratched the back of her head, before offering an explanation – “No signal.”

Narrowing her eyes dangerously, the Queen swished her way closer to her unlikely companion, who stiffened so she didn’t retreat again, “I remember you being dense Miss Swan, incredibly, infuriatingly dense, and yet you still manage to surprise me. How many villains have you fought that provided you with a good service?”

Emma looked down at her feet, but instead of being fearful the Queen could see a smirk forming on the Saviour’s face. Straight away she could tell the filthy direction that Emma’s mind had gone in, and when she saw Emma start opening her mouth to form a reply, she couldn’t help but cut her off with biting snark, “So you’re aware before you answer, Hook barely counts as a man, let alone a villain.”

The smirk dropped into a frown, and Emma looked at her with annoyance, “Jeez, there’s no need to get personal about it.”

“Ah yes, that’s reserved for my lesser half isn’t it?” the Queen taunted, downing the remains of her wine and slamming the glass on the table. Emma swiftly followed suit, wiping the excess from her lips as she rose to her feet.

“There’s nothing lesser about her-”

“Oh, so I’m the lesser one?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It makes you sound like a sanctimonious asshole.”

“Big words for a little woman.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Stop switching subjects.”

“Can’t keep up?”

Emma took a deep breath, covering her face with her hands as she silently counted to ten. When she lowered them again, it was to pick up the carafe and pour them both another glass, one of which she offered to the Queen. When the dark haired woman took it with a dismissive look, the blonde gritted her teeth, pursed her lips, and then quickly counted to five. Then she spoke – “You said yourself we’re stuck here. Do you really have to be such a bitch?”

The Queen gave a short dry laugh, “Haven’t you heard? I’m Evil.”

“Well that’s a shitty excuse,” Emma retorted, “You were incredibly pleasant when you tried to poison me with pastries.”

“I was imagining your demise every second,” the Queen sniped back, to which Emma responded by raising her glass.

“And your smile was fucking dazzling while you did it.”

There was a pause, and then the Queen clutched at her chest as a laugh rumbled up and out of her before she could stop it. Emma’s expression became suspicious for a moment, waiting for the fireball to the face, and when it didn’t come her own lips began quirking upwards. She quickly hid her amusement with her hair, letting it drop forwards as she sipped her drink, her shoulders shaking. She’d always known she was hilarious, but there was something unnerving about the Evil Queen realising it too.

When they both managed to settle down, there was a comfortable quiet as they drank. Emma sat back down, and the Queen only hesitated briefly before gracefully descending on a cushion pile next to the blonde, pouring them both another round when the glasses ran dry, and then keeping them topped up.

It was damn near companionable.

It was completely unacceptable – the Saviour and the Evil Queen, drinking together like they weren’t supposed to hate each other from Emma’s birth. Snow would choke on her outrage.

The Evil Queen muffled a laugh as a cough just thinking of it, and Emma looked at her with concern. It was almost as though the wine had confused her – surely it was misplaced concern for Regina and not for her? She swirled the maroon liquid gently, looking over the rim at the woman who was supposed to be her nemesis, “You’re too soft.”

Emma stiffened, “Hard enough for you.”

The Evil Queen didn’t bother muffling her laugh at that phrasing, and after a sullen moment Emma joined her. It was beyond ridiculous, the pair of them sharing wine and innuendos - the wine carafe seemed never ending, and the innuendos seemed like they could flow just as freely, given enough influence from the former. The laughter faded slowly, and the two women found themselves looking at each other quietly and without malice. Fortunately, the revelation that they could do so wasn’t sobering, and Emma was the first to break the strangely comfortable silence.

“Why do you want to kill me anyway?” she asked, her tone nowhere near as accusing as the question could seem. The Evil Queen scoffed and rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time, not immediately replying, until Emma leaned in closer to her, “Why?”

With an expression that was hard, but not entirely closed, the Evil Queen answered with a pointed question of her own, “What have I actually done to you?”

Emma gave her a disbelieving look, and held up her hand to start ticking things off, “You tried to sabotage me and Ashley nearly died, you told everyone about my visions, put my son in danger, cursed my parents, tried to fuck with my head, and you sent me to an alternate reality. That’s not including any of the weirdness involving Gold.”

The Evil Queen tilted her head from one side to the other in consideration, before shaking her head, “Please, that’s the worst you can say? Honestly, if anything you should be thanking me.”

“How do you figure that?”

Holding up her own hand to mimic Emma, the Evil Queen spoke roughly, “I made you prove to yourself that you’re still the Saviour, even with your visions – which by the way, you now have Team Perfect supporting you to figure out. _Our_ son was never in real danger with me, which certainly wasn’t true when you dragged everyone to the underworld. I could have killed your parents, I didn’t. Your reactions amuse me, and you can’t seriously expect me to believe my _words_ actually affect you. And also, you’re the one that wished yourself to wherever you ended up, I just granted it, and you certainly seem to have come back stronger for it.”

“You expect me to believe you’ve been trying to help me?”

“God no. I’m bitterly disappointed in myself. The point I’m making Miss Swan, is that out of the two of us, you’re the one that’s caused more damage.” The point was made sharply, with a curled finger ghosting over the new scar on her cheek.

Emma winced a little even as she protested, “You provoked me!”

In an instant the Evil Queen was on her feet, and Emma rose to meet her as the dark haired enchantress quickly closed the gap between them, “I provoked you? With pithy comments and schemes? Be thankful no one has torn you in two and tried to murder you!”

“That wasn’t my idea!”

“You didn’t protest it _Saviour,_ ” the Evil Queen snarled, the word ‘saviour’ dripping with sarcasm, “And that’s just as bad. But please, do go ahead, plead ignorance – it runs in your family.”

The two woman stood electrifyingly close, slightly off-balance with glasses still in hand, incredibly tense even as they swayed. They were so close that the Evil Queen couldn’t miss the shiver that suddenly ran through Emma’s body, nor the slight widening of her eyes. Taking it as fear, she began to sneer, only to be cut off by the blonde speaking – “How is it that you’re the more honest one?”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, you’re more honest.”

The Evil Queen took a step back, trying to assess if Emma had recently become some kind of lightweight, “The hell I am Miss Swan. You keep missing the Evil in my title.”

Emma shook her head, stepping forwards to close the distance that the Evil Queen had put between them, “You…She hasn’t been like this with me since the split.”

“I’m surprised that doesn’t please you.”

Looking between her glass and Regina’s dark side, Emma quickly downed her wine before boldly stating “I miss it.”

The Evil Queen following Emma’s example with her own drink as she attempted to formulate a response, eventually settling with “You’re a fool.”

“So you’ve said.”

Silence stretched awkwardly between them, though the distance between them seemed to contract. If not for the fact they were both still trying to control themselves, it was almost certain that their chests would have been heaving from the intensity between them. The Queen felt Emma’s gaze roam over her face, devouring the agitated expression, the slightly mystified but still guarded crinkling of her eyes – the brown stormier than it had been in so long. It made her feel exposed, as though Emma were somehow searching her soul, reaching for the heart of her. The Queen wondered, what did Emma see? Could the Saviour still know her better than anyone, and would she want to, without Regina’s temperance? Why did it matter, so suddenly?

“It was you all along, wasn’t it?”

“You’ll need to be more specific than that Miss Swan.”

“You were the one who argued with me, who called me an idiot. You’re the one who was blunt with me, all the time.”

“I-”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. All this time I’ve been falling into that bullshit ‘the Evil Queen is all of Regina’s bad’ way of thinking, but you’re not are you?”

“I most certainly am-”

“No. No you’re not.”

“Oh for goodness sake Miss Swan! If I’m not everything that’s wrong with her, then what exactly do you think I am?”

“You’re just a part of her! And she’s just a part of you – and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realise how fucked up that is! You should never have been separated!”

Shielding herself from the vulnerability that Emma seemed hell bent on exposing, the Queen gave a mocking slow clap, “Brava Miss Swan, for once you’re not the last to figure it out.”

Emma was having none of it, “I’m not buying the attitude Regina.”

“What the _hell_ did you just call me?”

“Your name. Regina.”

“How dare you be so familiar?!”

“Re-gi-na. Regina. Regina Regina Regina.”

Fire erupted from the Evil Queen’s hands, fury spiking within her, “You don’t have the right!”

Instead of backing away or cowering, Emma looked incredibly sad. Lowering her palms slowly over the raging fireballs, she gently extinguished them as she took the sorcerous’ hands in her own – “…I am so sorry Regina. You’re right, I should have said something. I should never have let Snow into your head, or stood by when you did this to yourself. I’ve been a crappy friend.”

Instead of pulling away, the Queen hesitated, looking between their linked hands and Emma’s earnest face, “…You still think we’re friends?”

Something seemed to snap in Emma at hearing that, and she roughly pulled the sorcerous into a hug so tight it was winding. If memory served, it was their first one without Henry, and the dark haired woman didn’t know quite how to react.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the fact she’d been so damn lonely since the split, but all she could think to do was hug back.

So of course she pushed Emma away.

“Regina!”

“No.” The word was sharp, almost breathless, and she lifted her chin defiantly, “Miss Swan, I neither know nor care what exactly you’re missing from my lesser half, but I do know that you won’t be getting it from me.”

“Regi-“

“It’s ‘Your majesty’. You haven’t earned my name.”

The blonde’s face momentarily betrayed an expression of hurt and bewilderment, her arms left limply holding empty space, and it ignited a rage within the Evil Queen. The Charming wretch had the gall to act like the wounded party? Surprised that there weren’t immediate rainbows? Pathetic. The Queen’s lips twisted darkly, her eyes narrowing as her brows knitted closer together, her nostrils flaring slightly as she inhaled a deep angry breath – only to have it stolen by silent surprise as Emma suddenly nodded, keeping her head inclined down for a respectful moment as she said, “Of course. More wine your majesty?”

No hint of sarcasm, nor of mockery. Just an earnestness that devastated the fight that had been building.

The Queen looked away, nodding and accepting the gesture even though she didn’t know what to make of it, or what to do with it. They both sat, awkwardly deflated, sipping their drinks and both wondering how to start talking again after the Queen’s brutal shut down. As was typical, it was Emma who came to the rescue, “So…what’s the harshest way you’ve rejected someone? Not counting just a minute ago.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry sorry…What’s the harshest way you’ve rejected someone, _your majesty_?”

It was such an about turn that the Queen wondered where the topic had come from, and being thusly distracted wasn’t able to answer straight away. Thankfully, Emma took the Queen’s confused face as not understanding what was expected, and so she placed her hands on her own two thighs and lent forward conspiratorially, “Never mind, I’ll start. So it was in Boston, and there was this guy. I bumped into him at this coffee shop, or rather he’d literally bumped into me. He did the whole apology and how can I make it up to you thing, and I brushed it off, said it was fine, and went to sit down. This guy, he follows me to the table, and as soon as I sit down he asks if the seat opposite is free. I told him, I said ‘it is, and the one I’m in will be too if you sit there’. He got the hint after that.”

The Queen sniggered, yes sniggered, before her competitive streak was aroused, “That’s what you consider harsh Miss Swan?”

“You think you can beat it?”

“As a matter of fact yes, decisively.”

“Go on then, your majesty.”

“It was back in the Enchanted Forest. The man was some baron or other, really not that memorable, except for his extraordinary persistence. He kept sending me love letters, of all the cliché things, and I kept sending them back. Eventually he decided to hand deliver one to me, and he had such an arrogant look about him that he probably would have been exactly your type-“

“Hey!”

“-Anyway. I took the letter from him-“

“Did you read it?”

“-Of course not Miss Swan. I threw it in the fireplace and told him his words had finally warmed me.”

“…Dayam!” came Emma’s response, accompanied by repeated bowing, waving her arms in front of her as she did so. It was certainly not something that the Queen had ever expected to see, and she couldn’t help but start to preen a little, a sly smirk crossing her lips.

“My my Saviour, if you were on your knees then that’d be just perfect,” she teased, and Emma’s eyes lit up with a naughty kind of merriment.

“Add a fireplace and that’d be downright suggestive your majesty.”

A laugh escaped the Queen, and she replied by offering Emma an exaggerated wink, which made the blonde snort into her drink. Watching with amusement, a thoroughly wicked idea entered the Queen’s mind, and the filter to stop her acting on it had been lost a few glasses ago. Advancing on the still chuckling Sheriff, she managed to position herself right next to her without alerting her, her lips grazing the blonde’s ear, “That could be arranged.”

Emma jumped about as high as a startled tom cat, and the Queen laughed long and heartily, falling back amongst even more pillows to clutch her stomach as her whole body shook – and it was fortunate for Emma that the Queen missed the sudden red flush that had reached the blonde’s cheeks. As it were though, Emma’s blushing subsided as she caught her breath, and she scowled playfully, “Jeez, buy a girl dinner first.”

The Queen looked around the room and then shrugged, taking Emma’s glass from her, “Well, all I can offer at the moment is a drink. Will that suffice?”

“To get me on my knees? Not a chance…maybe first base though.”

“First base?”

“You haven’t heard about the bases? In how many years?”

“Unless you’re referencing that baseball game, I can’t say I have. What exactly would a drink get me then, simply?”

“…Never mind.”

“No no Miss Swan, please enlighten me – if I bought a drink for a girl like you, what would I get?”

“What do you mean girl like me?!” Emma punctuated her question with an accusatory point towards the Queen’s face. The Queen batted the finger away, and didn’t quite let go before she replied.

“A girl who’ll exchange sexual favours for alcohol apparently.”

“The PRESUMTION!” Emma shouted, wagging her finger, and ending up shaking the Queen’s still attached hand along with it, “First base is kissing!”

“So it’s only your lips that are cheap then?”

Emma let out a gasp only just low enough to be heard by people as well as dogs, the word ‘bitch’ slipping out with it to accentuate her level of scandal. The Queen simply smirked, taking her hand from Emma to refill the glass she was still holding in the other. Innocently she held it out, only to withdraw it slightly when Emma reached for it.

“Just so we’re clear, is this an instant payment situation or…”

When the Saviour’s jaw had suitably dropped, the Queen laughed again and pushed the glass into Emma’s hand so she could refill her own. There was a slight buzz going on in her head, and she had to admit that the whole situation felt nice. It was light hearted, and with Emma on the back foot it felt non-threatening. It reminded her a little of the times she’d spent with Zelena – though obviously with her sister the tête-à-tête had taken on a different form – and it was so far detached from the emotional intensity of earlier that she felt herself naturally relaxing. Thinking on it, she considered it a shame that she had never had an exchange like this with the Saviour while she had still been one person, although perhaps it was to be expected. While she had still been a part of Regina, this kind of talk would have had the chance to lead to too many consequences. Her other half was quite serious with her emotions, which led to her keeping a tight lid on her sexuality…something the Queen herself had no problem with. Soft, hard, man, woman - the main consideration was what would be most enjoyable. Considerations which as one Regina had been kept purely mental.

As just the Queen however…a predatory edge found itself working its way into her smile.

“It does make me wonder though…” she began, pausing to make sure Emma listened intently, “…you seem so taken aback, I’m beginning to question if you’ve ever actually kissed another woman.”

The blonde spluttered into her drink, her face flushing again. The bait was obvious, and it was equally obvious she was going to take it – “I’ve kissed a woman! I’ve kissed plenty of women!”

“You do know that your mother doesn’t count?”

“I know that! I’ve kissed non-relative women, with much vigour and romance I might add!” insisted Emma, sloshing some of her wine over the rim of her glass – and the Queen smirked while still playing at being nonchalant.

“If you’re as sloppy with your kissing as you are with your drink, I might have to let you back out of your tab.”

“I am NOT a sloppy kisser- Wait, what tab?!”

Moving the carafe further to one side, out of Emma’s reach in anticipation of the blonde’s reaction, the Queen raised her eyebrows as though Emma were being dense again, “I do believe I’ve already poured you three glasses, top-ups notwithstanding. By your own pricing, that’s three kisses you owe.”

At this point, the Saviour could have pointed out that she hadn’t agreed to that – might have stood a better chance arguing that point – instead she reacted just the way the Queen had hoped, “But I remember pouring you two – give me the wine, I’ll pour your another one now!”

“I don’t think so Miss Swan, I haven’t finished this one,” teased the brunette, stretching her legs out so Emma would have to reach over them to even attempt to get at the carafe, “Although if you’re really that scared…”

The Queen let the sentence tail off, glancing between her nails and Emma with a causal nonchalance that she knew would make the blonde react in three, two, one – “I am NOT scared! Why would I be scared? I’ll kiss you right now!”

The brunette had to abruptly place her wine to one side, in order to prevent the Saviour’s valiant lunging from turning into an impromptu head butting session – ending up with one hand against Emma’s sternum, and another on the floor to stop them both from falling back like lusty teenagers. Emma’s hands had landed either side of the Queen, sinking deeply into the cushions, her upper body falling heavily against the Queen’s hand, her legs askew from her previous seated position. The Queen could feel the heavy rise and fall of the blonde’s chest, and the tip of her nose tingled oddly where Emma’s was brushing against it. They were tantalisingly close, and the Queen played at scowling – “Miss Swan, that is not the way you kiss royalty.”

Emma pushed herself back up, sitting with confusion and embarrassment flush on her face, “…You wanted me to kiss your _hand_?”

It was too much.

With an exasperated growl, the Queen sat up as well, irritation radiating from her, “No Miss Swan, clearly I meant my feet.”

Glancing quickly between the Queen’s face and her feet, Emma’s eyes squinted as she tried to process whether the brunette was serious, “But you’re wearing shoes…?"

“Oh for…” The Queen had had enough – darting her hand out, she smoothly cupped Emma’s cheek, the tips of her fingers digging through blonde hair as she pulled their faces close again, “Like this.”

The kiss was firm, and more than a little forceful. Sharp nails clutched through blonde hair, commanding the princess to yield, to give in to the soft lips moving against her own. The suddenness of it, the confident assertiveness behind it, it made the blonde gasp. It was an opportunity the Queen didn’t miss, slipping her tongue into the Saviour’s mouth – dominating, caressing, and forcing Emma to respond in kind. A shiver ran through them both as the Queen’s hands roamed through Emma’s hair and along her neck – holding, stroking, urging – the Queen’s breathing laboured as all the sensations of kissing Emma Swan rolled through her, coiling and winding with a heady heat through her body, settling like warm velvet that was too comfortable and far too easy to sink into.

Only when Emma leant in further, hands clawing at the Queen’s sides, trying to ground herself as her senses were assaulted and overwhelmed – only then did the Queen pull back. Emma tried to follow, tried to deepen the kiss again as she chased retreating lips, but she was stopped by one of the Queen’s hands against her chest again – the other at the brunette’s own face, a sensual finger wiping her bottom lip as though she were brushing the kiss away.

Emma was distraught.

“Wha…why did you stop?”

The Queen raised her eyebrows, before shaking her head with a throaty chuckle, hiding the fact she was still slightly breathless, “Merely preventing your debt from bankrupting you.”

“What?”

“Your tab Miss Swan. That little lesson just doubled it.”

Emma’s distraught expression quickly turned to affront – “Fuck you.”

“Didn’t you say that requires dinner first?”

Emma glared, squinting to focus all of her annoyance square on the Queen’s face, shuffling to create distance between them as she did so, her back rigid even as she swayed slightly back and forth. Then she repeated herself, pointedly, “Fuck you _Regina.”_

It was the Queen’s turn to look affronted, but instead of saying anything straight away she simply flicked her fingers in Emma’s direction, sending a miniature orb of fire sailing neatly into the Saviour’s lap. When Emma yelped and jumped up unsteadily, patting herself out to reveal a small singe mark, then the Queen spoke - “I told you not to call me that, _Miss Swan.”_

The ‘Miss Swan’ was a warning, a chance for Emma to repent.

It went clear over the blonde’s head.

“Why the hell not?! You just had your tongue down my throat!”

“Don’t be so crass,” commanded the Queen, standing up and drawing herself up to her full height, her heels giving her an inch or so to tower over Emma, “It’s intolerably rude to bring up a third party after _you’ve just involved yourself_ with someone else.”

Emma bunched her face up into exasperated vexation, meeting the Queen’s eyes without the slightest hint of intimidation, “ _Involved_ myself? And what do you mean a third party? It’s _your name_ damn it!”

If the Queen hadn’t found Emma’s scrunched up nose so frustratingly adorable, and if she hadn’t been so bemused by Emma turning into a little ball of perplexed rage, she would have filleted her for being so dense – “Close your eyes Miss Swan, and say the name again. Who do your imagine?”

Emma didn’t even bother closing her eyes, and had the decency to let a touch of shame cloud her confusion, “but you’re the sa-“

“Do NOT finish that sentence,” snapped the Queen, stepping into Emma’s space and gripping her chin harshly, forcing the blonde to wince, “It was not _Regina_ who just kissed you. It is not _Regina_ that you now owe six kisses to. Do not _dare_ to imagine that she can replace me in this deal.”

Ripping her face from the Queen’s grasp, Emma defensively jabbed a finger at the brunette, “I didn’t agree to any deal!”

“So lunging at me like a hormonal teenager was…what? Please, do explain how I forced you into this.”

“I did not – I – at most I agreed to three, not six!”

A wicked smirk settled on the Queen’s features, her eyes glinting with ferocity as she closed in on her prey, “It’s agreed then. You, Emma Swan, will kiss me three times to my complete satisfaction.”

A sudden “oh shit” expression spread over Emma’s face, and the Queen could see her panicking, no doubt thinking how to back pedal without losing face – something akin to fear in those enchanting green eyes, but not quite that. It created a small throb to see the Saviour so thoroughly trapped and vulnerable, which only intensified as Emma shivered when the Queen ghosted her fingers across the blonde’s cheek. Feeling how warm the Saviour’s face had become, hearing the helpless swallowing, the Queen continued the movement of her hand so she could brush it through soft blonde hair, noticing with satisfaction that Emma’s eyes had drifted closed.

Leaning in close to Emma’s ear, she purred, “To my _complete_ satisfaction princess,” before lightly nipping the lobe and pulling back. Another husky chuckle escaped as Emma yelped and jerked back, abruptly aware of oddly erotic intimacy between them.

Patting herself down in a reassuring manner, Emma cleared her throat a few times, attempting to strengthen her resolve to negotiate some kind of compromise for herself, “Right…right, okay. Fine. Three kisses, to your satisfaction. But I have conditions.”

“Go on.”

“Really? I mean, right. My conditions.”

“Your conditions.”

“Yeah. So…no more tab keeping for one. Three kisses, that’s it.”

The Queen hummed her consent, and Emma narrow her eyes, on guard at easily the brunette had agreed.

“I mean it! You can’t suddenly add more!”

The Queen nodded, spreading her hands before loosely fisting them under her chin with a coy smile, “Of course. _I_ won’t add any more.”

A small growl of irritation rumbled from the blonde, and she looked ready to argue the point – and the Queen could clearly identify the moment that Emma realised doing so would mean admitting that she herself might cave and add more. The Saviour brushed off her jeans to give herself a moment, forcing herself to simmer down and not take any more bait, and then continued with her conditions, “Fine. And don’t call me princess anymore – it weirds me out.”

“Very well.”

“And you have to think of something I can call you. Not _your majesty_ or _your highness_. No weird title crap.”

The brunette stiffened, and for a moment Emma thought she’d stumbled across a get-out clause, but then the Queen nodded, “I’ll think on it. Anything else Miss Swan?”

“Yeah, that. If I’m gonna be kissing you, you have to call me Emma. It’s strange otherwise,” she said, and when the Queen quirked an eyebrow, quickly added, “Stranger.”

“Of course, Em-ma.”

The blonde briefly looked as though she might suddenly rescind the last condition, but quickly pulled herself together. Instead, she stuck out her hand, and when the Queen took it she shook it firmly, “Right.”

“A deal then?”

“Yeah.”

It took a full ten seconds and the Queen clearing her throat for Emma to realise she hadn’t stopped with the hand shaking, and when she did realise it seemed she didn’t register that she could pull her hand away…she just slowly stopped the shaking movement and then left their hands held together limply – and the Queen was far too amused to let go first, and intrigued. The Saviour’s hand was softer than she had expected. For some reason she’d assumed it would be coarse and calloused from all of the hero-ing that the blonde was constantly pushed into – and it occurred to her that it was the longest that Emma had touched her directly, without pesky clothes in the way of the contact. Not counting the kiss of course – this was something Emma had initiated – and the Queen found her thumb stroking over Emma’s knuckles, exploring the smoothness. It was a far gentler touch that the Queen expected from herself, and when she realised what she was doing – and that Emma wasn’t pulling away – she corrected the situation by tightening her grip to a painful squeeze.

She expected Emma to yelp again, and jump back, but instead she found her hand being crushed back.

For one moment, it was a power play – who’ll let go first – and then the next moment, the Queen found herself stumbling into the Saviour’s arms as Emma roughly pulled her forwards. Landing against Emma’s chest, she couldn’t react in time to stop the blonde from reaching up and loosing her hair from its intricate do, sending dark brunette waves cascading down the Queen’s back – a tight arm locked just above her rear stopping her from pulling away.

The sudden switch in their situation, Emma taking the advantage for once, completely threw the Queen. Quite frankly, she was breathless, and to her own surprise she didn’t completely mind. When her head was tugged back, she allowed it without resistance, curiosity at what Emma might do winning out over pride – and if that shocked either of them, neither made it obvious. Emma’s hand bunched in the Queen’s hair, her lips ghosting over the brunette’s ear, mimicking the Queen’s earlier control as she murmured, “Shall I start repaying the debt now?”

For the Queen, it broke the moment, and with a swirl of purple smoke the Saviour’s arms were suddenly empty – the breath on the back of her neck her only indication of where the Queen had gone, “If you have to ask, _Em-ma_ , then no.”

Emma swung around abruptly, thinking to say something biting, but as she did so she suddenly had a stark reminder of the wine she and the Queen had drank - stumbling into the brunette and unbalancing them both. The resulting tangle of limbs sprawled amongst the cushions destroyed any of the building mood that might have remained - there was nothing sexy about landing with someone’s pointed fingers stabbing into you.

“Right between the fucking ribs!” A distinctly unladylike snort was the only reply, and Emma rolled away hugging herself protectively, “It’s harpies that have talons right? You’re a goddamn harpy.”

“Have you ever seen an actual harpy Miss Swan? You’re flattering me.”

“I’m wha- what do you mean an actual harpy? They’re real too?”

“Are you honestly surprised at this point?”

There was a lengthy pause as the blonde thought about it, her brow puckering in concentration, “…I guess not?”

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, the Queen tilted her head, struck by the adorableness of a slightly confused concentrating Saviour. She knew from the memories she shared with Regina that it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this expression, and she frowned when she realised it wasn’t something that had struck Regina in the same way. Most odd. Had Regina really pushed her that far down? To be more taken with a filthy vagabond than the unconventionally charming woman before her? It was too much to think about all at once – and so she was grateful for the distraction of noticing Emma fiddling with her phone again.

“Expecting the signal to have improved Miss- Emma?”

“Nah. But I think I have some music somewhere on this thing, and I’d rather focus on that then wonder what other weird shit exists when I’m not looking.”

“I’m sure they’d continue to exist even if you did look.”

“Even worse – ah ha! Oh this is too good,” Emma chortled, looking far too amused with herself, “Tell me Queenie, have you ever heard Queen?”

“Queenie?”

“It’s a placeholder – have you?”

“I’ve course I’ve heard of Queen.”

“You like them?” Emma asked, stifling a childish giggle- which did not go unnoticed.

“Laugh it up – the Evil Queen likes Queen, how hilarious I’m sure,” the sharp eyed woman bit out, losing none of her snark even while slurring slightly, jutting her chin out definitely.

Emma waved a hand placatingly, biting down on her bottom lip to stop the mirth she felt from tumbling out – “No no, I just…what’s your favourite song? By Queen?”

The Queen opened her mouth to answer – not necessarily the question – but Emma cut her off, “Wait, I want to guess! Gimme a minute.”

With a sigh, the Queen retrieved her drink and settled herself deep within a pile of cushions, gesturing for Emma to begin – finding her decidedly less adorable and far more ridiculous; the blonde had stood up, picking up her wine with one hand, and the index and thumb of her other stroking her upper lip like a modern day Poirot.

“Hm. Hmmm. So many good songs…hmmm.”

The princess began to pace slowly, twirling the ends of an imaginary moustache as she weighed up the options, not paying any mind to the Queen’s eye rolling. Taking the occasional sip of wine, she muttered to herself, going through song titles like murder suspects in her mind until…

“Ah ha! It’s a kind of magic!”

“The obvious choice,” the Queen responded mockingly, “Wrong.”

“Don’t stop me now?”

“No.”

“Huh...wait, I know! Discovering Queen in your moment of triumph, it has to be we are the champions!”

The Queen allowed Emma a moment of being pleased with herself, reaching for her own wine as the blonde gave herself a pat on the back, and then she not so gently corrected her – “Sheriff you may be, but a detective you are not. You assume I found them immediately. You also assume I would relate to something that I could only associate with a comparatively short period of time in my life. Foolish.”

Their eyes locked, Emma awkwardly trying to walk forwards whilst also getting progressively lower – her knees coming up higher with each step until she nearly kneed herself in the jaw – before she thought to drop to her calves and shuffle. Even with Emma’s drunken bumbling, the gaze between them was intense, as though the blonde were suddenly looking inside the Queen, really considering her. Silence stretched between them like a rubber band – tense, and painful if stretched out too far. Blue eyes attempted to penetrate the Queen’s defences, to reach the heart of her, and in turn the Queen felt her heart begin to race.

“…Another one bites the dust?”

“Oh for the love of – it’s the show must go on.”

The revelation seemed to momentarily stun Emma, her eyes softening as though the Queen had just shared a hidden emotional vulnerability – never mind that the Queen was glowering at her, unappreciative of Emma’s doe eyed tenderness. If anything, the Queen’s sudden belligerence made Emma regard her more fondly.

It was infuriating. Just when she was getting to a place where she could forget, or at least ignore, the blonde’s lineage…all of a sudden the Saviour had to go and look exactly like Snow White’s daughter.

“Stop looking at me like that,” the Queen grumbled in irritation – but far from stopping, Emma lent forwards and rested her free hand on the Queen’s thigh.

“I just never realised…”

“Never realised what? It’s a song for god’s sake,” she snapped, trying to brush Emma’s hand away, and growling in exasperation when the blonde tightened her grip.

“But you relate to it. You said so, you associate it with something.”

“What’s your point?”

“You must have been through a lot.”

Disbelief spread across the Queen’s face like someone had slapped her with a loaded paintbrush, “...You never realised? If you’re joking, it’s in poor taste.”

“I mean…I know you didn’t just wake up murderous one day…but-“

“But what?! You’ve met my mother have you not?”

“Well yeah-“

“You know what happened with Daniel?”

“I do b-“

“You are aware, that before his body was cold in the ground, I was married off to a man more than three times my age?”

“I mean-“

“A man still desperately in love with his dead wife. A man who viewed me as both a nursemaid and a whore, to be used and discarded in exchange for a title I never wanted. _And you never realised I’ve been through a lot?!_ ”

“…I’m sorry…”

“Your mother likes to think I was the first Evil thing to live under her roof, but I wasn’t. I was just the first she recognised.”

“…Yeah well, Snow can be an idiot. So can I, runs in the family.”

“I’ve noticed.”

The Queen’s face was flushed, turned away and refusing to look at Emma. Focusing on a particularly vibrant drape, she took a small sip of her drink, suddenly aware of how loose it made her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say so much – something about the combination of inebriation and Emma’s cluelessness made it hard to stop though. Perhaps she wanted to tell someone…perhaps it felt like Emma could listen and understand…

“Have you ever seen Moulin Rouge?”

“I swear to god, if you compare me to Satine I’ll burn you alive.”

As if the Saviour could understand. The woman was an idiot.

“I only meant…there’s a cool version of the show must go on in it. It’s not the original, but…anyway,” Emma stumbled through her sentences, knowing they were heading towards a precipice of some sort – about to fall into something either devastating or exhilarating, “I always imagined myself as Satine to be honest.”

The Queen didn’t expect that, and her puzzled expression – as opposed to something mocking or biting – encouraged Emma to continue, “I mean, she’s always wanting to be more than she is, wanting to be happy…and everyone keeps telling her that she can be if she can just be useful, and hold it together. They keep telling her that even when they know it’s a lie, so she doesn’t fuck shit up for them. Even when she changes what would make her happy, falls in love and all that jazz…it doesn’t get to last. She never really escapes.”

“And you see yourself in that?”

“Sure – every home I went to wanted something from me. Screw my happiness, that comes later, after I’ve played my part, if it comes at all – and if it does, you can guarantee that something will fuck it up.”

“And now?”

“…I’m the Saviour – it doesn’t exactly leave me free to ‘just love and be loved in return’ does it?”

And suddenly it felt like Emma might understand again. Might not be a complete idiot. And she was reminded that of all the people in Storybrooke, even if she was Snow White’s daughter, Emma was the one who always saw the grey. That the blonde’s worldview wasn’t as simple as she herself appeared to be, and even that appearance was misleading. It was difficult to dwell on, and stirred up irritating feelings of guilt that didn’t manifest for any of the other Charmings.

So she tried to allay it, “Well, you at least have your Christian waiting.”

It was said with her usual snark, masking her intentions, and she expected Emma to jump to Hook’s defence. Not for her to hum and then go quiet again.

Awkwarder and awkwarder. But also interesting…trouble in paradise? That was something she could use, once they escaped and she had enough distance to start scheming again in earnest.

Clearly the blonde either didn’t drink often, or not in the right company, if several glasses of wine were making her inadvertently spill her woes. That being said, the Queen realised, the same could be applied to her, perhaps even more so – meaning the situation was dangerous. She strained to find her mental filter, her poise and control, and found it far too difficult.

She damned herself. So wrapped up in the flirtatious power plays, the curiosity, and yes, the amusement, she’d allowed herself to be too careless. If not for the fact Emma seemed even worse off – morosely staring into her glass as she swirled it – the Queen would have felt vulnerable.

Unacceptable.

She needed to take back control, to reassure herself that she still had the upper hand. Starting by stopping the Saviour from being so melancholy.

“Em-ma,” she drawled, “While I appreciate you clearly need to spill your soul, you mentioned that you have music. Put. It. On.”

Emma looked up, bristling at both the sarcasm and the command, opening her mouth to argue for the sake of it before taking a deep breath to stop herself – “Yeah, fine. Queen still good enough for the Queen?”

“It’s agreeable.”

“Good. I’m only putting it on if you sing though.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Emma’s lips, cheeky and charming, and the Queen bit down her urge to refuse outright.

“Hoping I’ll mask your warbling?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I like my voice!”

“But does anyone else?”

“That’s it, it’s so on Queenie – you, me, I want to break free.”

“Ha, afraid of a challenge? Bohemian Rhapsody or nothing.”

“Done.”

The Queen twirled her fingers to envelop Emma’s phone in purple smoke and leave it glowing slightly on one of the tables, simply commenting “We’ll need appropriate volume,” when the blonde made to protest. Nodding in understanding, Emma poured them both one more glass. She immediately necked half of hers and indicated for the Queen to follow suit, silencing the refusal with “Then we need to be appropriately prepared,” and tilting her head expectantly until the Queen sighed loudly and complied.

**Author's Note:**

> This is currently a one-shot, but if people like it I may continue!


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